Leggiero
by kci47
Summary: In the aftermath of the war and Hermione's break-up with Ron, things go downhill quickly. But Hermione is resourceful; soon she's carved out a means of survival...until The Serpent arrives, threatening everything she's worked so hard to protect. AUish, EWE, rated M even though I think it might be an acceptable T. Written for WeasleySeeker's "Italian musical term" challenge on HPFC.
1. Chapter 1

The raggedy creature leapt nimbly over a fallen crate as it tracked its prey. The shifting mass of tattered brown cloth made it impossible to determine if the creature was male or female; in any case it did not matter. The creature moved through the crowded street so swiftly and silently it might as well have been invisible—and this is what the creature counted on for survival.

Not wanting to lose sight of its target, the creature sped up, ducking and dodging the other pedestrians with a practiced ease. The intended victim was strolling along, stopping here and there to glance into shop windows, for he had no idea he was presently being stalked by one such as the filthy creature.

_More fool him_, the creature thought vindictively. Sighting the perfect opportunity at last, the creature deftly swept forward and brushed lightly against its prey as the man turned to greet an acquaintance. Had he glanced over at that moment, he would have seen the indefinable lump of rags speeding away from him, pocketing his watch and his wallet—but he was blissfully unaware, and he did not glance over.

* * *

Hermione turned a corner into an alley and checked that it was deserted before leaning against the dirty bricks and taking a moment to catch her breath. The adrenaline rush she received from successfully relieving someone of their belongings always carried her away from the scene as light as air, but the nervousness and fear of being caught usually returned quickly after she made her escape.

Glancing around again, she pulled the man's possessions from a mokeskin pouch secreted in her filthy robes. She'd nicked the pouch from Hagrid the last time she had been at the castle, and though she felt terrible about it, the giant had others and he would surely have given her this one if she had been in a position to ask.

Ruthlessly tamping down the feelings that threatened to overwhelm her at thoughts of the castle and her old friends, Hermione examined the watch. It was high-quality, of course; she never chose targets that would carry anything less than the best. She was pleased, however, to note that this watch was not a family heirloom of any sort—which meant she could freely sell or trade it without fear of being accused of thievery.

_Even though you _did _steal it_, her conscience reminded her waspishly. Over the past few months, she had grown quite tired of her conscience and its constant lectures—did it _really _want them to starve? She was doing what she had to, and that was that. All was fair when it came to survival. She _had _to believe that, or else she was no better than a...than a...well, than a Death Eater!

Replacing the watch, she opened the wallet, gleefully licking her lips when she saw the amount of Galleons stuffed into the folds. She wouldn't have to pickpocket for days—no, weeks! Congratulating herself, Hermione removed just one of the golden coins before flipping through the rest of the wallet. Pictures of her target's family—_boring_; bits of parchment with reminders and shopping lists—_snooze_; a key that most surely opened a vault in Gringott's—now _this _could be useful. Turning the key over and over in her palm, she wondered if she would be able to locate the man again to grab a bit of hair. If she could Polyjuice herself and get to the vault before he even realized his wallet was missing, then she might be able to get enough money for some proper robes and a place to live...

Sighing and reluctantly dismissing the lovely daydream, Hermione tried to remember that she did have _some _dignity left. She was not yet so desperate as to take a family's entire life savings, even if they were—she checked the name embossed on the wallet and sneered—a Pureblood family.

Securing the wallet in her pouch, Hermione straightened and headed off for the little market that she knew was a few blocks over. She rarely had the means to purchase anything at this market anymore, but with today's takings, she'd be able to splurge on some fresh bread and maybe even a bit of fruit that wasn't spoiled. Interesting how much your food preferences changed when your options were severely limited—the soggy mushrooms of her year on the run with Ron and Harry were positively appetizing in comparison to what she usually ate now.

ooo

Strolling through the carts and vendors a few minutes later, Hermione carefully chose a handful of slightly-bruised peaches and some crusty bread that had refused to rise in the oven. She wasn't terribly picky; after all, this was a far cry from her typical once-daily meal provided by the trash bins of the eateries on Knockturn Alley. On an impulse, she bought a bit of over-priced butter from one of the girls who owned a sickly-looking cow. The way the girl's eyes lit up at the paltry Sickles was enough to justify the purchase for Hermione.

Retreating to an abandoned building nearby, Hermione climbed to the roof and ate her lunch in silence as she watched the activity in the market below. Normally she would pickpocket all day before scrounging for food once it grew dark. Having the leisure of eating lunch and not rushing to search for her next target was better than Christmas.

An overwhelming sense of sadness closed in on her as she thought of last year's Christmas. Last year, things were still normal: she had still been with Ron, the Wizarding world had still been rejoicing over the defeat of Voldemort, and Hermione Granger had still been a war heroine. But oh, how her situation had changed!

Now, she was alone and lonely; now, she was a skilled but destitute pickpocket; now, she lived in squalor and knew constant hunger.

Now, she was a fugitive from the Ministry, the goblins, and the Wizarding population as a whole.

Fighting tears, Hermione gazed out at the rooftops that made up Knockturn Alley. If she squinted hard enough, she could just make out the bright orange of the Weasley boys' shop in Diagon Alley—but she hadn't dared step foot there in over two months. She feared her reception if she was discovered.

It had started innocently enough—the Department of Magical Law Enforcement had come to the Burrow to discuss with Harry, Ron, and Hermione the damages they'd caused at Gringott's, the Ministry, and Hogwarts. It seemed that Kingsley Shacklebolt, the new Minister of Magic, was in favor of dropping the charges in recompense for their actions to rid the world of Voldemort. However, the goblins had not been as willing to relinquish what they felt they were owed. Kingsley had promised that he would find a way for the Wizarding world to pay their debt, since in truth they were all indebted to the Trio.

And all would have been well and good if she and Ron hadn't begun to drift apart. Immediately following the final battle, they were inseparable; as time wore on, however, it became clear that their brief passion was just that—a brief passion. They parted amicably and Hermione turned her attention to obtaining her NEWTs and getting a job in the new Ministry. She and Ron remained on good terms, and they resigned their love affair to fond memories.

The old-fashioned Wizarding society, however, was less willing to forgive and forget. After many months had passed and no engagement was imminent, talk began to circulate about what Hermione had been _doing _in a tent with two boys for the better part of a year. Nevermind that they had been tracking down an evil wizard—no, the society she found herself in now was determined that three healthy young people with "nothing better to do" must surely have alleviated their boredom in..._other _ways. And, typical of those old-fashioned societies, nothing negative was said outwardly about the boys—it all fell on Hermione, the girl, the Muggle-born.

Her reputation as the brightest witch of her age, Harry Potter's staunchest sidekick, War Heroine Extraordinaire, was tarnished beyond repair within a matter of days. Ron sheepishly offered to marry her for just long enough to get everyone off her back before a mutual dissolution, but she turned him down. It was sweet of him, but she would not allow the Pureblood-centric society to dictate her life in such a way. She plowed ahead with her studies, resolutely ignoring the naysayers and pretending to laugh it off when she was in public.

And it might have died down eventually, if the goblins hadn't stepped in. It seemed that, under pressure from the Ministry, they were willing to rescind most of their charges as long as someone paid them something. Unfortunately, they were only too eager to align themselves with the Hermione-bashers, claiming that she should be the one to pay since she, after all, was the one who had actually impersonated Bellatrix and broken in.

It was complete rubbish, Hermione knew that; still, Harry hadn't been able to save her, and the goblins refused to back down. People she had once considered allies were suddenly wary of showing public support for her. It was easy to claim that a fallen woman such as herself _deserved _to be held accountable for what she'd done, and so it was that she was faced with paying off four thousand Galleons worth of damage to the Wizarding bank.

Hermione had had no intentions of doing so, however. She took a few days to discreetly get her affairs in order, and then—she'd vanished. That was how she'd come to be here, stealing from well-off witches and wizards; eating less-than-desirable food; living in unwashed, tattered robes; and sleeping on a cot that she paid dearly for the privilege of sharing with three others.

Hiccupping once, Hermione brushed away the tears that had fallen while she reminisced. It was unfair, to be sure, but she saw no alternative. If she'd stayed, she would have been hunted down and forced to pay off the ludicrous charges from Gringott's, and she'd be just as poor and friendless as she was now. She couldn't run away to the Muggle world, either, because they knew that's where she was likely to turn. By relegating herself to the dregs of Wizarding society, she was hidden in plain sight. It had been six months now and no one had approached her, so she thought it was working.

Standing and stretching, Hermione hoped that one day everyone would realize the grievous wrong they'd done to her, and she would be able to return to her rightful place in society in a blaze of indignant glory. Until then, however, she would have to continue scavenging for a living. A sudden crush of people in the market below caught her eye, and she saw that her preferred potions dealer was making one of his rare appearances. Checking her canteen, she decided to make a stop with him before she headed home for the evening.

ooo

The crowd of people had dissipated slightly by the time she made her way over to the incongruously handsome man stationed in a corner of the market. He was blond, blue-eyed, with a chiseled jaw that reminded her of Gilderoy Lockhart in his prime. However, this particular wizard was quite haggard, and one could recognize that he had once been good-looking even as one smelled the horrid stench of days-old sweat and potions ingredients from a kilometer away. He was Hermione's favorite source of Polyjuice Potion because his wares were high-quality and reasonably priced.

Excessive amounts of Polyjuice for someone in Hermione's financial position may have seemed an extravagance to some, but she considered it more essential than a roof over her head. She dared not walk around looking like herself, so she made sure to always have Polyjuice and the hairs of strangers on hand. A few shifts as a janitor in a Muggle beauty salon had provided her with plenty of hair samples; this man provided her with the Polyjuice and, more importantly, he did not ask questions.

She waited until he concluded negotiating with an older man before approaching him. Since she was always disguised, they had long ago agreed upon a code phrase.

"The Ministry is multi-talented," she said quietly.

"They can talk and piss you off at the same time," he responded, sharing a conspiratorial twitch of his lips with her. She supposed she had been in somewhat of a foul mood they day they'd come up with this arrangement, but still...insulting the Ministry was one of the few joys left to her.

The man, known only to her as The Serpent, dug in his crate of wares before pulling out her usual bottle of Polyjuice.

"Actually, I'll take two," she said. He merely raised his eyebrows at her before pulling out another bottle.

"Good takings today, then?" he asked conversationally as she counted out his payment. Hermione shrugged one shoulder, not wanting to broadcast to anyone in the area that she was currently flush with Galleons, even if they would never be able to extract them from her pouch.

These bottles would last her a good two weeks, if not more. Deciding to store one in her pouch for emergencies, she thanked The Serpent and went on her way. Before she left the market, she bought the rest of the butter from the young witch with the cow, paying with the watch.

"Take that to Bloomsy & Firelit, they'll give you a fair price for it," Hermione murmured to the girl, who was busy staring at the watch as she turned it over in her frail hands. Wide green eyes raised slowly to meet Hermione's, and she was reminded of the awed look on Harry's face whenever someone got him a gift. Not wanting to make a scene, Hermione wrapped up her pats of butter and hurried off. Selling the watch would no doubt bring in more money than the girl typically made in a month, but Hermione had a wallet full of Galleons—she could afford to be generous today.

ooo

An hour later found Hermione napping in the shade of a tree in St. James Park. She'd passed out the butter to a group of rapscallion children scrounging in the dumpsters outside The Drunken Niffler, a Knockturn Alley pub near the entry to Diagon Alley. With nothing else to do, she'd wandered over to the park and washed her things in the lake there. Now her clothes were hanging from the lower branches of the tree or spread out beside her, and she was groggily waking at the sound of someone splashing about in the water.

Cracking an eye open, she saw that the person intruding on her pleasant solitude was none other than The Serpent. He was stripped to the waist and bathing in the cool lake water, his ragged dark blue clothing lying in a heap on the shore. Supposing there were worse people to share her little spot with, she sat up and stretched. The water _did _look inviting; maybe she ought to wash her hair, as well. Grabbing a lock and sniffing it, Hermione recoiled. Yes, _definitely _time for a rinse.

Since her clothes were already as clean as they were going to get, she waded into the lake in her underthings. The dingy camisole and knickers were a far cry from what she had been accustomed to before, but they were serviceable. She knew she could easily transfigure them to something nicer—actually, that went for all her clothing—but ever since she'd decided to disappear she had avoided using her wand whenever possible. The Ministry could track her that way if they so desired, and she didn't want to make it any easier for them to find her. So, most of the time, she was as Muggle as could be, the Polyjuice her only exception. Snorting indelicately at the Ministry's oversight in not tracking potions use as stringently as wand use, she came even with The Serpent, waist-deep in the water.

"You really must have done well today, you little miscreant, for you to be relaxing in such a manner this afternoon." He indicated her napping spot with a jerk of his chin.

Hermione grinned but did not answer. Let him guess all he wanted. She sank down and submerged her head in the water, rubbing her hands through it to make sure it was all wet. Standing up again, she glanced over to see if The Serpent by chance had any soap. Noting that he did not, she sighed and contented herself with scrubbing more water into her hair. It would have to do.

Looking at him again, she realized that he had stopped his bathing and was staring at her body with those piercing blue eyes. Rats, she hadn't even checked who was she was masquerading as today! Quickly looking down, she inwardly cursed. She was Polyjuiced as an apparently buxom Muggle blonde this afternoon...it was no wonder The Serpent was interested. Blushing, she moved deeper into the lake until the water lapped at her collarbone. At least now she was somewhat covered.

"Do you visit this lake often?" she asked, trying to distract his gaze from her display of breasts and legs. Her voice emerged as no more than a squeak, and he smirked knowingly at her before returning his attentions to his hair.

"Every week," he answered, and she breathed a sigh of relief that he was not going to mention anything about her shameful lack of clothing. "There are ingredients to be harvested along the shore if one knows where to look."

"Oh?" She felt her rampant curiosity beginning to unfurl and tried to tamp it down. It wouldn't do to give away any hints as to her knowledge of potions ingredients. When The Serpent slanted his eyes over to peer at her, it just confirmed her feeling that he could be dangerous—very dangerous.

She decided it was time to head home and ration out her money for the rest of the week. That, and take some Polyjuice to switch into one of her male disguises—the attention she'd drawn as this girl made her far too uncomfortable.

"I'd better be off," she murmured to her bathing companion. Beginning to wade out of the lake, she froze when The Serpent spoke after she was a handful of steps past him.

"Try not to run through your potions too quickly," he cautioned her. "I'd hate to see a good transformation go to waste." He waggled his eyebrows at her chest area and she blushed from head to toe.

"Good day," she said firmly, marching up the bank and hurriedly pulling on her clothes. The man was far too presumptuous! He was probably watching her even now—she peeked over her shoulder and found to her chagrin that he was standing with his arms loosely crossed, grinning at her and most definitely eyeing her bum. He saw her looking and waved. Hermione scowled at him, pulled on her robe, and stormed out of the park.

ooo

After a decent dinner bought from a leering cook at one of the Knockturn Alley restaurants, Hermione took her time going home. Obliviate Alley was so named because everyone—its tenants and those lucky enough to live elsewhere—wished they could forget its existence. It was, in a sense, Knockturn Alley's own version of Knockturn Alley. It was where the lowest of the low (_Like me_, she thought angrily) lived and worked. There was nothing so nice as a Borgin & Burkes here, no; Obliviate Alley was filled with brothels, gaming hells, and illegal potions-houses. Treading lightly so as not to draw attention to herself, Hermione slipped through the alleyway and headed for home.

Hermione squeezed through an opening in some fencing and climbed deftly up the old ladder into the cramped room she shared with seven other witches and wizards. There were two cots only barely large enough to hold two people, so the tenants took turns sleeping at night or during the day. Since Hermione shared a bunk with what she was certain were two prostitutes, having the bed at night was no issue, and she was up and gone before they ever arrived home in the morning.

It was absolutely wretched, and the rent for such a place was exorbitant considering its derelict condition. But it was all she could afford, and she vowed that if she ever returned to the high society of the mainstream Wizarding world she would do her best to remove the reasons for such a place's existence. She quickly fell into a fitful slumber, her dreams haunted by an arresting look from a mystery man with a set of piercing blue eyes.

* * *

**A/N: This is for WeasleySeeker's "Italian musical terms" challenge. I received _leggiero_, which means "light; nimble". I pretty much took this Hermione-as-a-thief-by-circumstance plot idea from every Regency-era romance novel I've ever loved. **

**I'm not JK Rowling!**


	2. Chapter 2

For the next two weeks, Hermione continued to pick at least one pocket a day, just to keep her instincts sharp. It would not do to rest on the unexpected windfall she'd received from the Pureblood man; she'd decided to save most of his money and continue to scrape by as usual.

In truth, she always tried to target the Purebloods; they were easily identifiable by their mannerisms and she considered it her means of revenge for the way their attitudes had effectively tossed her out of society on her bum. She made sure to change her appearance often, and she had bundled up the rest of the buxom blonde's hair to store away in her pouch. She had no desire to parade _that _body around anymore, especially after the way The Serpent had stared at her.

A small shiver went through her as she remembered their encounter at the lake. He had been...almost friendly. At least until she'd got her undergarments wet and put the blonde girl's body on display. Then, his banter had become downright suggestive, and the look in those eyes...

Ruthlessly squashing her nonsensical musings, Hermione determined to put that afternoon out of her mind. She had managed to make it thus far without any friends or romantic entanglements; she didn't need to complicate her life in such a manner now. But she _was _running low on Polyjuice, so she would have to seek him out again, and soon.

As it happened, she ran into him not long after returning to the market area of Knockturn Alley in the late afternoon. Despite spotting several promising targets, she hadn't managed to earn much today. After she bought her potion, she'd barely have enough Knuts left for a bit of moldy bread. She supposed she could dip into the Galleons she was saving in her mokeskin pouch, but they were intended for a true emergency. Sighing, she approached The Serpent and stated her usual part of their secret phrase. He eyed her male form speculatively before giving her a knowing smirk. Irritated with his smugness, she pressed her lips together to prevent herself from defending her choice of disguise.

"Here you are, little miscreant," he murmured as he handed her the bottle. She tried not to feel pleased when he used the same pet name he'd used for her that day in the park. Uncorking the vial, she sniffed as was her habit. You could never be too cautious. She was about to replace the cork when something odd registered in her brain. Dipping a tip of her pinky into the potion, she tasted it gingerly.

"You've diluted it," she accused him. "You've replaced the knotgrass with common smartweed!"

The Serpent's eyes narrowed and he grabbed her by the arm to drag her into a shadowy space between buildings. His grip on her bicep was punishing and Hermione was thankful she had the cushion of this boy's muscles to prevent her from bruising.

Pushing her against the wall, he bent until his face was inches from hers. "What did you just say?" he snarled at her.

"I said you've diluted this by substituting an ingredient," she hissed back. "This potion's not worth the vial it's bottled in! I'll be transforming back into myself every five minutes if I try to use this!" She shook the bottle in question at him.

He glared at her for a long moment before taking a step back. Hermione relaxed, no longer afraid he might try to harm her. She supposed she ought not to have shouted about him trying to cheat her in front of other potential customers, but still... She came to The Serpent specifically because he provided a quality product at a good price, and she wasn't about to accept this generic replacement.

The Serpent was still considering her. Looking around, he pulled her deeper into the small alleyway before speaking again. "What is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?" he asked carefully.

Hermione resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Honestly, what was it about potions brewers that made them think every other wizard in the world was a complete dunderhead? Professor Snape had always loved to fire off this question to make his students feel stupid as well. She felt a pang of remorse as she remembered Professor Snape—he would _never _have corrupted the integrity of a potion by substituting one of its ingredients, she knew.

"It's the same plant, and it's also called aconite," she retorted. "You can't pull one over on me—this is nothing more than knock-off Polyjuice, and I won't buy it." She handed the bottle back to him. "I'll have to find someone else willing to supply me with what I need. Goodbye."

She edged past him and was about to stride off down the alley when he grabbed her again, spinning her to face him.

"Come work for me," he said. Hermione frowned, not sure whether she liked where this was going. "Come work for me," he repeated. "As it happens, I need another brewer, someone whom I can trust to make the potions while I am out selling them. If you can tell the difference between what I've given you today and the real thing, then you've obviously a talent for potion-making."

Inwardly, Hermione crowed with delight. _Take that, Professor Snape!_, she thought triumphantly. Her sullen professor would never have complimented her in such a manner. However, she mustn't let that go to her head—agreeing to work with The Serpent no doubt brought its own set of dangers.

"Help you supply witches and wizards with illegal potions? I would never! I do have standards, you know," she said indignantly.

"Yes, your values are _so _impressive," he responded drily. "Tell me, how many people did you steal from today?"

Hermione scowled at him. "That's beside the point," she began.

"Is it?" He tilted his head to look at her. "At least my customers come to me willingly, _knowingly_. Including, as it happens, _you_. If you agree to work for me, I will give you your potions for half of my usual rate."

He must have seen her hesitation, for he continued.

"I have a small workshop in the back of Knockturn Alley, and I live in a small apartment above. You would be sharing the quarters as well since some potions require nighttime brewing. I would pay you a percentage of my sales and allow you a degree of freedom to continue to—_work_—as you've been accustomed to when there is no brewing to be done." His lip curled when he mentioned her current work. He no doubt felt superior to the "little miscreant" who was forced to steal from others for a living.

However...it _did _sound nice. Semi-legitimate work brewing potions, a place to live that she shared with only one other person—to be honest, it sounded like heaven.

"I want my potions for free," she said automatically.

"You'll pay forty percent," he countered.

"Twenty five."

"Thirty, and you keep your condescending attitude to yourself. I have to make a living too."

"Very well. I remain disguised day and night, you know," she told him. "And brewing is the _only _service I'll provide you with." She did have _some _morals left to her, after all.

The blue eyes bored into hers for a moment before crinkling as The Serpent laughed uproariously. Hermione crossed her arms angrily over her chest—he hadn't seemed quite so opposed at the lake! And she was a catch: she had brains, beauty, resourcefulness... Hermione had to restrain herself from listing all of her desirable qualities as The Serpent continued to chuckle. The whole crux of her continued survival was secrecy, and she most certainly did _not _need for this man to find out anything about who she was.

Or rather, who she had once been. She didn't think _that _Hermione existed anymore.

"Pity. I do _so _have a taste for unknown little miscreants with prickly attitudes," he drawled once he'd caught his breath. "You may move in whenever you wish. I'll expect you at my laboratory no later than noon tomorrow so that I can assess your brewing abilities."

He gave her his address and bid her adieu, promising to provide her with her regular Polyjuice Potion tomorrow. Hermione spent the rest of the day and night worrying over whether she'd made the right choice or not. She finally fell asleep in the wee hours of the morning, ashamed to admit she'd traded her so-called values for the prospect of a bed that she didn't have to share with anyone else.

ooo

Hermione arrived at The Serpent's place of residence shortly after noon the next day. He lived in an unfamiliar area where the back of Knockturn Alley mashed up with a newer segment of Obliviate Alley, and Hermione had had some difficulty finding her way. Rushing through the door, she spied only a small, mostly-empty room that evidently served as The Serpent's office.

"Hello?" she called out, her voice weak and breathless from her jog to get here on time.

"You're late." His voice drifted down from a set of stairs in the back, so she moved forward and began to climb, explaining as she went.

"Yes, I'm terribly sorry, I made a wrong turn down Thestral Avenue instead of Thestral Lane, and then I had to change directions to avoid a group of—what do you think you're doing?" She ended with a shriek as she entered the upstairs laboratory and The Serpent aimed his wand at her. A shot of blue light arced through the air and hit her squarely in the chest. She felt a peculiar sensation, as though her skin was trying to melt but couldn't, and then it was gone.

"If that's how you're going to treat your employees, I think I'll save myself the trouble and-"

"Is this your natural form, then?" he interrupted her, gesturing at the lanky boy she'd come disguised as today.

"I—what?"

"That spell. It should have negated the effects of your Polyjuice, returning you to yourself. Have you come as yourself today?" He eyed her speculatively.

Hermione smirked, feeling too proud to refrain from answering. "I always alter my Polyjuice so that its effects can't be undone by anyone but me," she said smugly. "My disguise is the only thing protecting me, so it can't just fall away by any old _Finite Incantatem_, can it?"

The Serpent's eyes widened momentarily before narrowing as they roamed her body. "Fascinating. You alter your potions so that only you control their effects... Tell me, is it a spell, or additional ingredients?" Hermione could tell he was intrigued, and remembered, perhaps a bit too late, that she thought this man could be dangerous.

"It could be," she answered evasively. "Weren't we going to test my abilities today?"

The Serpent's eyes returned to her face, and he broke out in a reluctant grin. "If you can manage that, I doubt any test I give you will cause you any trouble. It's ingenious, by the way, what you've done—if you could only publish your work, I've no doubt you would be considered one of the brightest-"

Hermione stiffened as The Serpent broke off and gazed intently at her face, as though he was trying to see into her soul. She looked away quickly. "Ah, but I can hardly publish anything under the name 'Little Miscreant'," she feebly attempted to joke.

The Serpent cleared his throat and gave her one last searching look. "My apologies. For a moment you just—reminded me of someone." Hermione had the distinct impression that The Serpent was both sad that she had reminded him of someone, but also irritated. He quickly wiped the emotions from his expression, however, and moved off towards the back of the room.

"Let me show you around the lab, and you can get started."

ooo

The next few days were a blur of learning her way around the tiny lab, brewing, and dealing with the ever-changing temperament of her new employer. She quickly discovered that The Serpent was uncommonly brilliant, and he had a dry wit that amused her to no end. However, he was also prone to towering rages, and his clever tongue could turn from hilarious to insulting faster than you could say _Accio_. Hermione kept a mental list of things that would anger him so that she could avoid them in the future, when possible.

For instance: he welcomed her questions, but only as they pertained to his specific instructions. Whenever she tried to debate a better way of doing things, he would turn cold and storm from the lab. He also deplored anything he perceived as a safety hazard, but luckily Hermione had always taken care in Potions class to prepare her ingredients properly, a habit which served her well now.

It did not take long for them to settle into a companionable routine. The Serpent spent four days a week in the lab, brewing potions; two were spent in the market hawking his wares; and at least one afternoon he spent doing whatever he felt like: reading, walking, sleeping, writing, researching. He said that he had previously had less than no time to himself, so now, even in the depths of poverty, he tried to make sure that he allowed himself time to relax and recoup. Hermione just shrugged and spent those afternoons pickpocketing, squirreling away the money for some future need. With a roof over her head and all the Polyjuice she wanted, her only expense now was food.

She wondered idly what her own body looked like. She had been using constant Polyjuice for nearly seven months; she hadn't seen herself in so long. Trying not to think about the potential harm that might befall her for using a potion for that length of time, Hermione tried to draw up a mental image of herself—and failed. When the war had ended, she'd been quite lean; fear and isolation tended to do that to a person. In the months afterward, Molly Weasley had fattened them all up considerably, and Hermione had enjoyed the satisfying plumpness to her adult curves. So had Ron—for a while, anyway.

But then... Well, once their break-up was apparent, the Weasley meals had stopped, and once she'd disappeared into the seedy underbelly of the Wizarding world, _any _meals had stopped. She suspected she'd be quite the skeleton now, if she were to allow the potion to wear off. But that was not an option, especially now that she was sharing close quarters with The Serpent. She had no doubt that he would use the knowledge of her real identity against her, somehow, if the need arose.

He'd already tried to suss it out of her during the times they were waiting for cauldrons to simmer. "Tell me about yourself" was his constant refrain, and Hermione usually gave such ridiculous responses that he'd play along, or let it drop. So far she had been the great Harry Potter in disguise (The Serpent had snorted with mirth at that), an American witch who had run away, the improbable lovechild of Albus Dumbledore and Lord Voldemort, a bowtruckle Transfigured into a person...her stories grew more and more unbelievable as time went on. She thought that her identity was more of an intriguing game to The Serpent than a vital mystery that required solving, at least until the day he again attempted to unmask her.

ooo

She'd lived with The Serpent for over a month when it happened, and she had managed to maintain her disguise at all times. Initially she had been afraid that it the Polyjuice might accidentally wear off in the middle of the night, or that in the excitement of brewing something she might forget to take a swig from her flask, but there had thankfully been no incidents.

Hermione had also come to realize that The Serpent likewise maintained a disguise. She knew it was not Polyjuice, for she had never seen him drinking the potion, and now that she was in charge of its inventory she knew none left the lab destined for anyone but his customers. She supposed he might have Transfigured himself or otherwise applied some kind of concealment charm, or perhaps he was a Metamorphmagus like Tonks. When Hermione was waiting for cauldrons to simmer, she would imagine all manner of identities for her cryptic employer. It seemed her curiousity _would _have an outlet whether she wished it to or not.

It hardly mattered to her who he was, though. He was providing a roof over her head and a balm to her injured morals, not to mention a challenge for her mind. _Why, if he threw in regular meals, I'd be in love!_, Hermione giggled to herself. There was no doubt that the constant banter between the two of them had grown into something that excited her. He was intellectually her superior, something she had despaired of ever finding in a mate. They both despised the unforgiving attitude of the general Wizarding population, and they both claimed to have been in Ravenclaw while at Hogwarts. Hermione assured herself that she wasn't _entirely _lying, as the Sorting Hat had lingered over her for a great deal of time before eventually placing her in Gryffindor.

In the quiet moments of the night when she was being honest with herself, Hermione admitted that she had a crush on The Serpent. Perhaps it was in deference to her feelings—and The Serpent's attractiveness—that she began to look for hairs from slightly more appealing Muggles. She still kept an assorted stock in the event she needed to make a quick escape, but while she was living with and working for The Serpent, she began to remain in a generally blonde, slightly curvy, tallish figure. She noticed that The Serpent was often short with her when she sported green eyes, so she usually found herself the owner of a blue or brown pair.

Today was no different. Dropping a hair into her flask, she barely waited for it to dissolve before taking a swig. She had grown so complacent that she had already swallowed a mouthful before she noticed the slightly sweet smell or registered that the potion had turned clear. She tried to spit out what was in her mouth, but it was too late. She could feel the Polyjuice wearing off, could feel her own body reforming for the first time in months. She raised wide, panicked eyes to the corner where The Serpent was watching with a sharp interest in his gaze. Before she had time to think about what she was doing, her wand was up and she was casting a Stinging Hex at his eyes.

The Serpent fell to the floor, clutching at his face and cursing at her. Hermione ignored him as she hurriedly pulled her emergency vial of Polyjuice out of her pouch and downed it, not caring which hair she grabbed in her haste. She only relaxed when she felt the familiar bubbling sensation under her skin and could hold a long lock of blonde hair out in front of her face. Content that she was once again unrecognizable, she moved to stand over The Serpent.

"-foul, hateful, violent little-"

"We agreed that you would allow me my disguise," she said reproachfully, casting the counter-curse and waiting while the swollen skin subsided. She supposed it had only been a matter of time before The Serpent's patience with her continued disguise ran out; and she was not surprised in the slightest that he had managed not only to steal a bit of her modified Polyjuice, but also to devise a concoction that would negate its effects.

Without warning, The Serpent lashed out and locked an arm around her ankles, bringing Hermione crashing to the floor. Quickly and lightly as a fox, he was atop her, straddling her midsection and pinning her wand arm to the floor.

"What-" Hermione fought against him with all her might, but it was a losing battle. Her current form was more graceful curve than chiseled muscle.

The Serpent leaned down and stared into her eyes. When she tried to look away, he grasped her chin with his free hand, and Hermione was unnerved by the intensity in the blue eyes.

"Answer me truthfully—and I _will_ know if you do not—do you mean me any harm?" he hissed at her.

Surprised, Hermione tried to shake her head, remembering too late that he held her steady with his hand. "No," she said instead. "Not unless you attack me first, at any rate," she added, grimacing as the fading red of her Stinging Hex caught her attention.

The Serpent seemed to find the truth of her words in her eyes, for his grip on her wrist and chin loosened. They stared at one another for a long moment, Hermione slowly becoming aware that she was quite thoroughly pinned beneath this man; a man that she admired, feared, _wanted_. On the heels of that realization was a second: she had haphazardly thrown a hair into her Polyjuice and was once again the buxom blonde from the afternoon at the park.

Swallowing thickly, Hermione shifted beneath The Serpent, trying to gauge whether she could throw him off or not. Her movements caught his attention, and his eyes traveled leisurely over her body. Hermione felt herself flush all over, and then The Serpent leaned forward again, his eyes alight with interest now. "And tell me, little miscreant, in your true form—are you female and of age?" He licked his lips and Hermione shuddered deliciously.

"Yes," she whispered, and then he was kissing her more fiercely than she had ever been kissed before. The hand on her chin slid into her hair, tilting her face so that he could better plunder her mouth. Hermione dropped her wand and flung her arms around his neck, kissing him back with all the pent-up passion she felt.

Their lips struggled for dominance. The Serpent maneuvered himself until they were pressed knee to shoulder, and the grind of his hips against hers set her body on fire. As his lips dragged down her throat and over her collarbone, Hermione could hardly believe this was happening. Hermione Granger simply did _not _have passionate affairs with strangers, especially not strangers that employed her-

"By the way, you're fired," he murmured into her ear, sending curls of pleasure down her spine.

"Excellent," she responded, attacking his mouth again, and she meant it. When he stood and tugged her to her feet, she did not hesitate in shoving him towards his bedroom.

* * *

**A/N: Well, I'm getting away from my prompt a bit, but oh well. For the record, I would LOVE to read a humorous story about the lovechild of Dumbledore and Voldemort. I mean...come on. That's literary gold. **

**I'm not JK Rowling, and no betas were harmed in the writing of this piece.**


	3. Chapter 3

The days that followed found their potion production ceasing altogether. Eventually, however, they emerged from their sensual haze and returned to their everyday routine—albeit with a great deal more kissing than before. Since The Serpent refused to employee Hermione while they were lovers, she contributed her brewing services in return for free Polyjuice, and they agreed to allow their relationship to go where it may.

This continued for a few weeks: brewing during the daytime, and enjoying each other at night. Hermione always made sure to take a swig of Polyjuice just before retiring for the night, and The Serpent's mask never slipped. If either one thought it peculiar that they went by "little miscreant" and "The Serpent", even in intimacy, they did not bring it up. At this point Hermione would feel strange calling him anything else, and she suspected he felt the same way.

Soon, however, Hermione began to grow uneasy. There was a certain way about The Serpent that felt oddly familiar, but she could not put her finger on it. At first she chalked it up to his great physical resemblance to Gilderoy Lockhart; but gradually she realized that it was The Serpent's mannerisms, not his looks, that tugged at her memory.

For instance, a few days ago Hermione had woken as dawn was breaking, the early morning sunlight streaming through the tattered curtains in The Serpent's room. Usually they slept until seven or eight, comfortably entwined, but as she rubbed the sleep from her eyes she saw him standing by the window, clearly looking but not seeing. His defeated posture and focused stare reminded her so forcefully of Professor Snape that she gasped. He turned to face her and the temporary likeness was shattered, but Hermione had been unable to forget the incident.

And now that the comparison was lodged in her brain, she saw further resemblances constantly. The way he did not brush his long blond hair away from his face. The nimbleness of his hands and fingers as he chopped ingredients. The amusing comments wrapped in dry sarcasm. She did her best to ignore the part of her brain that was screaming _Professor Snape is alive! _and ruthlessly squashed the question that always seemed to be hovering at her lips: _Who are you, really? _

It was a question she could never ask him, because she could not afford to be asked the same in return.

ooo

Another month passed and the days began to grow colder as winter approached. Hermione had managed, with great effort, to put aside her thoughts of Professor Snape. Deciding that any resemblance was purely coincidental and a result of her overactive imagination, she turned her attention instead to their potions and their dizzying passion.

The Serpent was at least an eager lover, if not particularly skilled at first, and Hermione discovered that the anonymity of another's body allowed her to be freer than she might have been as herself. They quickly figured out what the other enjoyed, and their combined smarts resulted in a number of creative encounters. She reveled in The Serpent's attention, and in return, she developed a kind of self-confidence she had never possessed before.

It was only a matter of time before that confidence translated to the laboratory. The Serpent, recognizing her abilities, had granted her permission to dabble in the lab during her free time, and Hermione spent every minute she could experimenting with potions research. Nothing was off-limits to her: no ingredient was unobtainable, no text was forbidden, no failed hypothesis was sneered at. Hermione was giddy with the potential for new discovery, and her enthusiasm spread. The Serpent began to join her in her research, and together they set off down the path of innovation.

Since the day they'd first kissed, The Serpent had refrained from asking her to reveal her true self. She took it as an indication of his trust and afforded him the same. Even without delving into their backgrounds overly much, they were able to get to know one another well enough. She was therefore surprised when he asked her to join him on a sales pitch.

"You want me to go with you? Why?" The Serpent had always operated this aspect of his business alone, and Hermione had never questioned him. She was far more comfortable in the lab than out dealing with people, anyway.

"This particular wizard will be far more inclined to buy from me—_us_—if there is a pretty witch present to assure him of our potion's quality," The Serpent explained, and Hermione nearly smiled when he corrected himself to include her.

"You think I'm pretty?" Hermione batted her eyelashes at him exaggeratedly, laughing when he grabbed her.

"Exceedingly," he growled into her ear before kissing her senseless. After a few minutes Hermione reluctantly pulled herself away.

"You don't even really know what I look like," she murmured, suddenly sad. "I could be uglier than a troll-"

"Nevermind that, it's your brains I admire the most, as you well know." He waved a hand, dismissing her entire physical appearance with one casual gesture. "As I was saying before you interrupted me, I have attempted to earn this wizard's patronage before, but he does not particularly care for me for some unknown reason. I have heard that he fired his previous brewer, and I'm hoping that your sunny personality and ample...assetswill convince him to bring his business here."

He began to pace and so missed Hermione's glare. He was using her for her _assets_, was he? She harrumphed softly but The Serpent did not cease his pacing. "Do you still have access to wherever you obtained your multitude of hairs from? If so, I would suggest you return and acquire several samples. I will decide which you shall don the day of the appointment."

"Yes, _sir_," Hermione retorted, becoming aggravated by his complete dismissal of her attractiveness. She supposed she was also still confused from her earlier realization that he had no idea what she truly looked like. Would he still find her attractive if she was herself? How could he-

"_What did you call me?_" He was immediately nose to nose with her, angry sparks shooting out of his eyes.

"I-I called you 'sir', but I was only kidding, because you were ordering me about-" Hermione knew she was babbling, but The Serpent's unaccountable agitation had completely surprised her. He glared at her for a few moments more, then his shoulders slumped and he stepped back.

"My apologies. For a moment I feared-" He stopped and cleared his throat, continuing in a lighter tone that Hermione could tell was forced. "I should not have snapped. We will be meeting this wizard in two days' time." With that, he spun and exited the room, leaving Hermione contemplative and confused.

ooo

Two days later found them waiting apprehensively in an abandoned warehouse near the back of Diagon Alley. Hermione was Polyjuiced as a _very _curvy young woman with a mass of golden wavy hair. She crossed her arms and tapped her fingers against her bicep, impatient to get this meeting over with.

"Stop that. Those cantaloupes on your chest are distracting me," The Serpent snapped at her. He had grown increasingly on edge as this appointment approached, and Hermione wondered (not for the first time) just who they were meeting today.

She did not have to wait long. The back door opened, briefly admitting a shaft of sunlight before slamming shut again. The bulky wizard swaggered forward and Hermione's lips begged to curl in a sneer as she saw that it was none other than Zacharias Smith. Apparently the erstwhile Hufflepuff was in the market for illegal potions and had the Galleons to ensure that he received the best.

Trying not to roll her eyes, Hermione stuck her hand out for Zacharias to shake and recalled her assumed name. "Hello! I'm Marigold Mattingly, it's a pleasure to meet you." Hermione managed to repress her shudder of revulsion as Zacharias' eyes went straight to her breasts.

"The pleasure is entirely mine," he assured her, his eyes eventually finding their way to her face. "But tell me, what's a lovely girl such as yourself doing tangled up with this curmudgeon?" He indicated The Serpent with a nod of his head, and Hermione sensed rather than saw The Serpent's massive pride beginning to swell. She jumped in before he could say anything they'd regret.

"He's quite brilliant, as I'm sure you know, or you wouldn't be here," she answered, remembering the background information The Serpent had given her about their previous dealings. "As it happens, I've a talent for potions myself, so I naturally gravitated to someone who could give me what I..._desired_." Hermione couldn't help but allow a bit of suggestion creep into her tone as she finished her statement... Really, Zacharias' attitude was unbelievable. Let him draw what conclusions he would.

She knew he understood her implications when his eyebrows shot up and he examined The Serpent with an assessing gaze. "I see," he said slowly, idly rubbing a hand against his chin. "Well, old man, if you've managed to snag this beauty, maybe you've more skill to offer than I realized. Tell me again why I should buy my potions from you."

Hermione let out a breath of relief as The Serpent launched into his pitch. It seemed that he had been right about bringing her along—Zacharias was definitely interested now. She nodded at the appropriate spots and begrudgingly bent forward a bit when The Serpent shot a commanding glance at her. Zacharias' eyes darted over and Hermione had to restrain herself from hexing him on the spot.

"Alright, enough—I'm not in the mood to stand about all day. Give me one reason why I should purchase from you, and looking at your lovely assistant won't count." Zacharias winked at her and Hermione nearly groaned.

"Very well. If you trust me with your potions needs, I will bottle fame for you, brew glory for you, even-"

Hermione and Zacharias recoiled as one. She was sure the horror on his face was mirrored on her own, but she rushed into the breach before The Serpent could ruin this for them.

"Ha, ha!" Hermione chuckled loudly. "Good one! I think we all know you'll do no such thing for Mr. Smith," she said forcefully. The Serpent looked at her questioningly, and she widened her eyes at him, hoping he would follow her lead. Zacharias had backed away and his eyes were locked on The Serpent's face, his fear and distaste evident. "Mr. Smith. Please forgive the ill-conceived joke on my partner's part. I believe we were all schooled under the same Potions Master, and my business associate here fancies himself a bit of a copycat."

Zacharias' eyes moved to Hermione, and she stepped forward, trying to press her advantage. "He always liked the drama of Professor Snape's class," she explained, trying to seem like she was telling Zacharias something in confidence. She silently thanked The Serpent for forcing her to choose this particular body, as it was helping her cause now. "But he only wishes he was a fearsome brewer just like _that_ wizard, Merlin rest his soul."

Hermione shot a glance back at The Serpent, waiting for him to agree with her. He coughed. "Ah, yes, my apologies. Being a Ravenclaw, I sometimes forget that Professor Snape was not as accommodating of students from other houses. He was strict with us, but not rude, and I occasionally—forget—his...legacy." He shifted uncomfortably as Zacharias stared intently at him again. Finally, Zacharias laughed, albeit nervously, and his stance relaxed. Hermione's heart slowed closer to its normal pace, and she quickly launched into the benefits he would receive if he hired them to do his brewing. The Serpent remained mostly silent throughout, a fact for which Hermione was eminently grateful.

ooo

Fifteen minutes later, she and the Hufflepuff had come to a mutually satisfactory agreement, and they shook hands all around before parting ways. As soon as Zacharias was out of sight, Hermione grabbed The Serpent by the hair and Apparated them to his flat.

"I cannot BELIEVE you would be so STUPID! Of all the idiotic things to say! Have you NO idea of your reputation?" She shook the fist holding his hair for emphasis before releasing him and pacing furiously around the room. "You are INFAMOUS for that speech! It is _legendary_ among every student who has ever stepped foot in your classroom for the past two decades! Honestly, what WERE you thinking?"

"I-"

"You WEREN'T thinking, clearly. You nearly gave Zach and I heart attacks, nevermind that you came _this_ close to scaring him off permanently and ruining your disguise-" Hermione broke off, her mouth agape as she realized she was yelling at him for the wrong thing entirely. "You let us all think you were dead!" she screeched, pointing a finger at him accusingly.

"Marigold—miscreant—blast it! Whatever your name is—be quiet!" the man she now knew was Severus Snape bellowed at her. He was flustered and angry. "I have no idea what you-"

"Just stop," she snarled. "You won't convince me that I'm confused. You're Severus Snape, Potions Master of Hogwarts, spy for Dumbledore, former Death Eater...you're DEAD!"

He pressed his lips together and did not deny her words. Hermione buried her hands in her hair and wished, for one wild moment, that she had her old curls back. Tugging at them had always soothed her, and this girl's gentle waves did nothing to ease the emotions rolling through her now. _He's alive, he's alive, he's alive_. The words ran through her mind over and over. There were so many questions she had for him, so many things she needed to know-

"How did you know I was a spy for Dumbledore?" he asked quietly, dangerously. Hermione froze. She replayed the last few minutes in her head, trying to ascertain whether she'd said anything to give herself away. She didn't think so. At most, he would now be aware that she had, at one time, been a student; otherwise, her secret was still safe.

She studied his face as she decided how to respond. Harry had made sure to tell everyone who would listen that Snape had been on their side, but Hermione had no idea how the greater Wizarding community really felt about the man. Seeming too supportive would likely lead him to the conclusion that she was close to the Order of the Phoenix, so she infused her tone with disdain.

"I'm no naïve little first-year. I heard the reports about you after the war—how you were _supposedly _acting nobly all this time, how you were loyal to Dumbledore, how you loved Lily P-"

"Enough!" He cut her off with a swipe of his hand, beginning to pace. "Damn Potter and his uncontrollable tongue," he muttered. The rest of his words were mostly lost to her—the only snippets she could hear were "brat", "my business", and "_bloody_ brat".

Hermione's eyes tracked his progress as he continued to stride around their little flat like a caged beast. The idea that Severus Snape was alive, well, and _blond _was just preposterous, and yet—it all began to make sense. The high-quality potions, the acerbic tongue, even his nickname—The Serpent—it all tied back to the man they all believed to be dead. Hermione chastised herself for not noticing sooner. She wondered now how he'd managed to survive. Clearly his disguise was absolute; they'd lived together for months now and she'd never seen it slip, not even when they'd-

Oh, god.

She was sleeping with Professor Snape.

The words were sluggish even in her mind.

_She was sleeping with Professor Snape!_

Hermione braced herself against a lab table as she fought to control her lungs, which had suddenly decided to stop working. Taking great gasping breaths of air, she shuddered as a bead of sweat rolled down her spine. She had to regain her senses; it wouldn't do to come apart like this right now—there were things she had to know, things she had to ask him. Unfortunately, it seemed that he was going to ask the questions first.

"You've just realized that you've been having sex with your greasy, foul, old Potions professor, haven't you?" he said, sounding almost bored. Hermione's first instinct was to bristle at the acidic tone, but she struggled to remember what she'd learned of him since coming to him as The Serpent: the cutting remarks were usually only doled out when he was feeling defensive.

"No, I've just realized that I've been having sex with a man I thought to be dead," she countered as calmly as she could.

He scoffed and moved closer, an angry smile lighting his face when she reflexively took a step back. "Tell me, did you ever entertain naughty schoolgirl thoughts about me while you were at Hogwarts? Maybe giggle to your friends that you'd kiss me if it meant receiving an O in Potions?" Then his expression lost all trace of amusement and he gripped her upper arms tightly as he growled, "Or did you pity poor, ugly Professor Snape, doomed to haunt the dungeons, forever celibate? Did you mock me, little miscreant?"

"N-no! I only ever had the utmost respect for you, Pr-professor!" Hermione swallowed and forced herself to relax in his punishing grip. "I never felt sorry for you," she declared. "You made your choices; you could have acted differently if you'd truly been so miserable."

He released her so quickly that she stumbled and caught her hip against the nearest worktable. Spinning away from her, he muttered, "Oh, yes, I made my choices; a handful of terrible ones defined my life until last May. Since then, things have been different, dare I say...better. I had thought..." He trailed off, and Hermione finally acknowledged the defeated slouch of her professor for what it was. She could not _believe _she'd been so blind all these months.

"Well, my little miscreant, this is the part where you go screaming from the room, never to look back," he stated flatly. Hermione felt a moment of panic at his casual dismissal of her and everything they'd shared, but then she paused, considering. Had their situation truly changed so much? She respected, admired, lusted after, and yes, even _liked_, The Serpent, and she strongly suspected he felt the same way about her. Was that going to change simply because she now knew his identity?

Sighing, Hermione realized the moment of truth was upon her. She could hardly expect him to keep her about when she held all the power—she would have to tell him who she was, and then they could both make a rational decision about their futures. Firming her resolve, she crossed the room to lay a hand on his arm, trying not to feel hurt when he flinched at the contact.

"There's no need to be nasty," she murmured. "Besides, I'm hardly the only one in for a bit of a shock today."

He turned questioning blue eyes on her, and Hermione stepped far enough back that she would have room for a Shield Charm if necessary. Digging through her mokeskin pouch, she retrieved the tiny black vial that contained the antidote to her particular Polyjuice.

Looking at Severus, she noted how uncertain he looked, and before she had time to think about it, she leapt forward and kissed him, hard. If he reacted to her true identity the way she thought he would, that would without a doubt be their last kiss. Returning to her place, Hermione uncorked the vial and downed the contents, closing her eyes so she wouldn't have to watch him watching her as she transformed.

When the bubbling sensation stopped, Hermione waited. She did not want to open her eyes until she heard some sort of sound from him—a gasp, a snarl, a hex—any would tell her how angry he was with her. But no sound came. There was complete and utter silence emanating from his direction, and there was nothing for it—Hermione opened her eyes to look at him, an apology already forming on her lips.

"I'm s-"

"I should have known," he muttered, rubbing two fingers against his temple. "Unsurpassed brilliance, seemingly immune to my barbs, incessantly chattering-"

"I do _not _incess-"

"But why in the name of Albus Dumbledore are _you _in hiding?" he burst out, clearly bemused. "Aren't you the darling of the Wizarding world? 'Harry Potter's brains'? The _golden_ part of the Golden Trio?" His confusion was palpable, and Hermione found herself at a loss for words. Where was his anger, his disgust, his complete dismissal of her as his companion now that he knew who she was?

"I-I was, yes, but then... Well, now I'm not," she stammered.

He rolled his eyes as he resumed pacing. "Well put," he drawled. "Now that you've illuminated _that _mystery for me, perhaps we should discuss business before we attempt to sort out the tangle that is our personal lives." He stopped pacing to stare at her, and even though the eyes were no longer black, the same shiver went through Hermione as it had whenever his gaze had bored into hers in school. "Do you think Mr. Smith believed your explanation?"

Hermione didn't have to ask him to clarify. He had slipped up, _majorly_, when he'd quoted his own first-year speech to a former student. "Luckily for you, I'm acquainted with Zach, and yes, I believe he was convinced," Hermione answered truthfully. "He was never one to...overanalyze things."

Severus nodded and Hermione could almost see the gears in his brain turning. "That is good for us," he murmured, mostly to himself, "but we cannot take the risk... Can you still Apparate cross-country?"

"Of course, but-"

"We'll have to go at nightfall, I daresay; take only what we can carry-"

"What are you-"

"-need new identities, both of us, what a bother-"

"SERPENT!" Hermione jumped to stand directly in front of him, forcing him to cease his ranting and address her. He looked taken aback at her use of his nickname. "I've told you that Zach won't make trouble for us. He's probably already forgotten your little misstep, and he has no idea who I am."

Severus gazed at Hermione a moment before dropping his eyes to the floor. "We cannot be certain," he said. "I have ruined this for both of us-"

"No. No, you haven't. We can continue as we have been, and in the future, I'll deal with any clients that may have been former students."

He sighed deeply and moved away from her. Hermione felt a chill race down her spine at the desolate look on his face. Was she being too optimistic? That had certainly never been her role before; Hermione Granger had usually been the one worrying about the consequences of every little word and action.

"Zacharias Smith is hardly the first customer whom I've inadvertently frightened off," he admitted quietly. "Until today, however, I had no idea what I'd said to make them run from me. I attributed their dislike to my general aura; after all, that was typically the reaction I received prior to the war as well."

Hermione's heart broke for him as the confession spilled from his lips. She knew, however, that he would not welcome her pity. "Yes, well, I can very nearly guarantee that you must have reminded all those people of 'scary Professor Snape' in some way. Tell me, were they mostly Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors?"

Severus snorted in amusement and turned to face her again, his features sobering. "Why are you still here, Hermione?" he asked wearily.

"Well, that's just rude," she retorted softly. He continued to look at her as though he was trying to figure her out, and Hermione realized that if she trusted him enough to reveal her true identity, then she probably ought to trust him with the whole story, as well.

She shrugged as she explained, "Immediately after the war, things were fine, as you'd expect—we were touted as Wizarding heroes and all that. But then...the goblins started demanding repayment for the damages to Gringott's, Ron and I went our separate ways, and before I knew what was happening, I'd become the 'immoral, unlawful seductress of the Wizarding world', or something to that effect. Rita Skeeter wrote a particularly excellent piece on my blackened soul." The instant anger and pain as she recalled the events were still present, but Hermione realized they had faded over the past months. She supposed she had The Serpent—or rather, Severus Snape—to thank for helping her come back to herself again. "So, as it happens, I've nowhere else to go, I'm destitute, I mostly refuse to perform magic other than brewing, and I can't be seen in my own skin. I'm rather a lot of baggage, I'm afraid."

She inwardly congratulated herself on not sounding _too _bitter about her situation. The silence in the laboratory on the heels of her confession began to grow deafening, however, and Hermione wondered if he would tell her to leave again. If he did, she knew she would obey, much as it pained her to do so.

Finally, he huffed out a deep breath and moved to one of the long tables, sorting the bottled ingredients atop it into two piles. "We'll just have to go further abroad, then," he said nonchalantly. "Help me decide which of these to pack, will you?"

"I..." Whatever reaction she had expected from him, an invitation to help him pack supplies for their move abroad was _not _it. "Just like that? You'll take me with you? I chatter incessantly, as you pointed out earlier-mmphf!" He silenced her with a long kiss before setting her back and gesturing at another shelf of ingredients.

"Thankfully I have discovered a rather delightful way to shut you up, so I believe that we will manage adequately," he told her, his customary smirk looking more like a smile on his new face.

Hermione shook herself. It seemed she was moving out of England to begin anew with her partner: heroic and _tragically _deceased ex-Death Eater, Severus Snape. Then the meaning of his words hit her: "'Adequate'?" She attacked him, jumping up and wrapping her legs about his waist as he staggered and attempted to balance them. "I'll show you _adequate_," she growled as she kissed him fiercely. Her heart soared as she realized that she had found someone who accepted her and, more importantly, _liked _her for who she really was.

Severus spun them and laid her back onto one of the lab tables, leaning over her with hunger evident in his gaze. "Just be sure to secure more hairs from that buxom blonde Muggle, hm?" he suggested before he plundered her mouth and dragged his hands over her body.

Alright, _almost _liked her for who she really was. Hermione decided that inhabiting the other girl's body was a small price to pay for happiness with her Serpent, and then she stopped thinking much at all.

* * *

**A/N: Tsk, tsk, Severus, surely you'd have realized that speech struck fear into the hearts of students for generations! I'm a Hufflepuff according to Pottermore and generally try to be a bit nicer to my house in fics, but in canon, Zacharias bailed on the DA and elbowed people out of the way during the evacuation, so I think in this case he was the right choice of character. **

**I'm not JK Rowling.**


	4. Chapter 4

"The Extendable Charm is ingenious," Severus told her as they walked hand-in-hand alongside the cove near their cottage. "I admit I'm still in shock that you managed to pack the entire contents of that flat into one bag."

"Thank you," Hermione responded. "It was a lifesaver many times over while we were on the run that last year. It's too bad everyone knows about that or I could market it."

The pair continued on, lapsing into silence. They'd relocated to a small village on the coast of Turkey a week ago, and were still settling in. Severus had bought a small shop on the village's main street and they planned to open an apothecary in a few days' time. "The Potioneering Pig" would provide the sleepy Muggle town with all their medicinal needs, with a special back room for the handful of witches and wizards that maintained retirement homes in the area. Already their storefront had received a great deal of curious stares: most of the residents giggled at the outlandish name while they peered into the windows.

Hermione had wanted to name it "The Polyjuiced Pig" in reference to the start of their relationship, but a name such as that would directly violate the Statute of Secrecy, and the last thing she needed was scrutiny from the Turkish Ministry of Magic. Even though they were miles away and she was certain that no one knew of her whereabouts, she couldn't help but constantly look over her shoulder. Severus assured her it would get better with time, but she knew that he still felt wary on occasion as well. She supposed it might be easier if the entire Wizarding world believed her to be dead, like him, but there was no help for it. She had aspirations of one day returning to Britain as herself—once all had been forgiven, of course—so she couldn't very well kill herself off.

Even if Severus had offered to stage her death for her, becoming rather gleeful as he outlined some of the gorier details.

They'd talked a great deal on their journey to their new home, and Hermione was surprised to realize that he harbored no ill will towards her, despite years of mutual dislike and annoyance. Indeed, he seemed to have truly put the past behind him; now that they were out of the dingy flat in London, he was smiling more often, telling her amusing stories from his years spent teaching, training her in the higher art of potions-making. And always, it seemed, touching and kissing her. Her amazement that her former professor had turned out to be a skillful lover quickly turned to never-ending gratitude to the strange circumstances that had brought them together.

"It is a shame," he murmured, shaking her from her thoughts. "Between the extendable bags and the personal Polyjuice, you could really become quite wealthy."

"Well, it _is _a shame you're stuck with me, penniless as I am," she teased him. "Although that reminds me—you've never told me how you managed to transform yourself without the repeated use of Polyjuice. I've been thinking I ought to do it as well."

They stopped walking and he turned to face her fully. "Are you certain? The potion I've created is, essentially, a permanent Polyjuice. There is no going back once it's done—you will be trapped in that body for life. What's more...I am not entirely sure how to put this." One of his hands toyed with her fingers as he glanced out to sea and back again. "I do not believe you will be able to safely use Polyjuice in _any _form after your transformation. You're talking about an irreversible change, Hermione. Be sure it is what you wish."

"Did you wish it so badly, then?" she whispered, aware that his former physical appearance and self-image were dangerous subjects to be treading upon, but needing to know his answer.

"After I awoke in the Shrieking Shack, drowning in my own blood, it wasn't a matter of wishing," he answered. "I knew I had to get out of there, and I knew that Severus Snape could no longer exist. It was a matter of survival." He paused and gripped both her hands in his. "But ever since...I occasionally find myself wanting to be that man again, yes."

Hermione bit her lip and dropped her gaze to their joined hands. "I wish you were him, too," she said softly. "I- That is, this," she gestured at his new body, "is nice, too, in its own way, but...now that I know who you are, I rather wish you could look like him. Silly, isn't it?"

One of Severus' hands grasped her chin and raised her face so she was looking at him once more. "That is the least silly thing I have ever heard." His solemn declaration was followed by a reverent kiss to her forehead. "Albeit the most unbelievable thing I've ever heard, as well."

A short laugh escaped her as she asked him, "Do you remember when you asked me if I'd entertained naughty thoughts about you in school? I can't say I did, but I _can _say that on more than one occasion the Gryffindor girls speculated about the amazing uses you might put your long fingers and velvety voice to." She waggled her eyebrows at him suggestively. "Just something to think about."

"Hmm, were you including yourself in the group of aforementioned Gryffindor girls?" he asked, tugging her closer.

"I'm not telling," she gasped as their bodies pressed together.

"Pity," he growled before his lips met hers.

ooo

"Drink it all in one go, it's atrocious," Severus warned her as he handed over the goblet of shimmering green potion. After a few days of thinking it over, Hermione had decided to follow in his footsteps and change her appearance permanently. She'd been hesitant at first, wondering if anyone would believe her story should she ever re-emerge in Britain's Wizarding society, but she had come to realize that she didn't want to spend her days hoping and wishing for something that may very well never happen. Finally letting go of her anger and disappointment with the population that had ostracized her, Hermione had felt nothing but conviction that taking the potion was the right thing to do.

They'd spent the intervening days holed up in their cottage, Hermione enjoying some time as herself before she said goodbye to the petite, bushy-haired girl for good. She'd insisted on savoring their lovemaking in her own body, carefully preserving her memories in small vials should they ever make enough money to purchase a Pensieve.

And now, it was surprisingly easy to cut all ties with her former self. Gulping the foul-tasting concoction, Hermione shrieked as the familiar melting effect of the Polyjuice was coupled with fire racing up and down her nerves.

"Oh, I nearly forgot—it's rather painful," Severus added from where he was leaning against their lab table.

"Thank you for letting me know," she growled, but already the pain was fading, and Hermione pulled a long, blonde strand of hair out in front of her face. "I hope people don't think we're related," she murmured.

"We'll erase any doubt of that when I snog you senseless in public," he said. Hermione merely rolled her eyes at his juvenile response. "And make no mistake, I _will _be snogging you senseless in public. Apparently I am attracted to tall, buxom miscreants."

Hermione laughed this time and spun once, slowly, for his perusal. After some debate, they had decided she'd take on the form of the girl who she'd impersonated that day at the lake so long ago. It seemed only fitting and, truth be told, Hermione did not mind being this girl one bit. "What shall we name me?" she asked, moving to stand in front of a mirror.

"Would you like something traditional, like Sarah or Emma?" Hermione made a face and Severus smiled. "That's a no, then. Perhaps you'd prefer something a little more unique, like Kitalpha or Ankaa?"

"Please do not attempt to name me after a star," Hermione groaned, shaking her head. "Kitalpha, honestly." She gazed at herself in the mirror for a bit longer and then turned to Severus. "I liked Marigold, actually. It seems to suit this girl."

"I am forever doomed to love women named after flowers," Severus complained good-naturedly.

Hermione elbowed him in the side before wrapping her arms around his waist. "What shall we name you?"

Severus flushed and immediately seemed sheepish. "Er, this person already...had a name. I was, I suppose, _acquainted _with him when I took his hair."

Hermione stepped back to look at Severus uncertainly. "'Acquainted'? _How _acquainted?"

"Not like that, you foolish girl!" He recoiled. "I meant that I knew him. He was not a complete stranger. And—his name was Gordon."

"O-ookay," Hermione said, confused. "Why haven't you told me this before?"

Now he looked even more uncomfortable. "It's not—it's rather—you see—this is humiliating." He began to pace like he always did when he was agitated. "If you _must _know, during your sixth year I was discreetly contacted by a female Death Eater who had performed an experiment that had gone awry." He swallowed nervously and looked at Hermione. "She'd snuck into St. Mungo's and taken some of that fool's, Gilderoy Lockhart's, hair. She—she attempted to clone him. So that she'd have him for her very own."

Hermione felt her jaw drop. "That's-"

"Vile, despicable, and completely nonsensical? Yes. I told her as much, too, once I arrived and found out what she'd done. Of course it did not work quite right; I tried to save the man she'd used Dark magic on but it was no use." Severus looked down at his hands. "Thankfully he died quickly. I have always felt, however, that I failed him. When it became clear that I needed a disguise, his was the image that popped into my head—I would become him, give him a chance to exist, honor him. This," he waved a hand at himself, "was the resulting odd amalgamation of Gilderoy Lockhart and a man named Gordon Hammill."

"You know, I thought you looked like Professor Lockhart a bit when I met you. I wondered if you were a down-on-his-luck brother or cousin, actually." Hermione inspected Severus' face with new awareness, noting the many similarities but also the differences.

"You needn't be so pleased for me to look like _that _buffoon," Severus said irritably, crossing his arms.

Hermione laughed. "Believe me, the pedestal I put that man on spouted a great deal of cracks the day you blasted him on his arse in Dueling Club, and my esteem was completely shattered when I woke up from being Petrified and found him next to me in the Hospital Wing, totally insensible."

She smiled at Severus, but he continued to sulk. "Oh, come off it, Severus. You don't see _me_ pouting because you like me better as some busty Muggle."

"I do not like you _better_," he bit off. "The only way I could like you _better _is if that Polyjuice had tied your tongue on occasion. And I do not pout."

His mulish expression brought a large grin to Hermione's face. "If you want to keep me quiet, I'm certain you can find a way." She danced her fingers up his arm teasingly.

"That is true." His piercing blue eyes skated down her body and came slowly back up. "I do so admire your brain, have I mentioned that lately?"

Hermione shook her head and retreated towards their bedroom, content with her decision to change her appearance and make a life with this man. She hoped he felt the same. As he quickly followed her, however, she was certain that he was as happy as she was. Her little miscreant heart sang when her Serpent lifted her up and threw her lightly onto the bed, kicking the door closed behind them.

* * *

**A/N: And there we are. I completely did NOT mean for this to turn into such a massive "oneshot"! I truly, truly intended like a little 800-word something-or-other...certainly nothing much beyond Hermione picking pockets in back alleys. But this just went entirely out of my control and so now you get a lovely longish SSHG story. **

**I'm not JK Rowling, OR David Yates...because if I was, there would most certainly have been a Hermione/Lockhart/Snape sandwich sometime around her 7th year. And now that I mention that, another out-of-control oneshot is forming in my head, darn it...**


End file.
